


A Small Word

by Ndara



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4490520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ndara/pseuds/Ndara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Show-verse, post 5x10. AU (where Ser Jorah doesn’t have grayscale; grayscale is stupid, stupid, I insist. :-)). Jorah and Daario have finally found their Queen and want to take her home, but Drogon has his own opinion on the matter. Rated M for language and sexual content; warnings: threesome and fluffy wishful thinking. Jorah M./Daenerys T., Daario N./Daenerys T., Drogon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Small Word

It had been more than a month since Jorah and Daario left Meereen as desperate wary rivals, so long ago. In the end the very thing that made them enemies before, their love for their Queen, brought them together. Bread broken over a campfire in the middle of the night, blood shed together for the common cause and just companionship in itself turns friends into brothers and enemies into friends, and they became friends, such unlikely, impossible friends it amazed themselves.

And that’s how they finally came to stumble onto more and more scorched patches of the grass sea, more and more burned animal carcasses, hopefully getting closer and closer to their goal.

…She saw them from afar, sprang to her feet and flew towards them, exhausted as she was, and they spurred their horses to reach her sooner. As one they dismounted and ran to her, and she entwined her arms around their necks, both at the same time, tears in her eyes. They held her haggard frame and she cried, stroking their faces.

“You found me! You found me at last, thank Gods! Drogon is a perfect watch-dog, but, sadly, very, very poor beast of burden. He just wouldn’t take me anywhere. There was no point in walking at random and I just had to wait for something or somebody – or until Drogon would agree to take me home. Thank Gods you are here! How did you find me?” She was already laughing, so relieved and happy.

“We have been searching in vain across the country, inquiring and tracking, for quite a long time” said Jorah. “It’s so damn hard to track a flying beast.” Daario took over: “One day we had quite an argument; his heart told us to go East, mine told us to go West, and then we saw Drogon with a horse in his teeth heading North. Five days later here we are. Now do tell us how you have been.”

“There was the moment when a Dothraki tribe came. They noticed and surrounded me. Some of them knew me from before. I thought I would be captured and taken away, I even dropped my ring here somewhere as a token. And then Drogon came and… showed them the error of their ways. In the end they thought that a slave girl, no matter how blond and pretty, even the widow of the great Khal Drogo, is not worth more than a dozen finest warriors and horses burned alive. They care so little for politics and destroying the last of the Targaryen bloodline, that the only real danger for me, after all, was to be bored to death here. Drogon feasted on their horses for days. And people in this part of the country, as it seems, already know that Drogon made it his lair, and no one dares to come here anymore.”

Daenerys showed them the nook between the rocks she had been sleeping in, her bed of dry grass, her meager stash of food she could find around. She did not want for water; Drogon had to drink, too, and settled not far from a nice clear brook. Jorah brought his saddlebags and unpacked a few things he thought she might need, like bread, cheese and dried fruit, and a couple of things she might want: soap and a change of clothes.

“Sandalwood. Your favourite.”

“You think of everything! I will never be able to thank you enough.”

Daario grinned, fumbled in his saddlebag and produced another piece of that very soap: “Your favourite, yes. And something to bring out the colour of your eyes…” added he showing her a piece of plum silk.

Daenerys laughed so hard she sank to the ground: “What am I going to do with you two?”

“No! It’s not like we are twin brothers who think alike,” laughed Daario. “We just thought that we might get separated by chance, and neither wanted to meet you unprepared.” 

“How have you been faring all this time, and where is Drogon, by the way?” asked Jorah.

“He is off hunting. And I – I survived. I had what he had, charred horse, and goats, and sheep. Once he eats them, there’s enough left on the bones. Eating meat alone is really bad for you, so I had to hunt for leek and garlic, and these long tubers… Ser Jorah, you must know them… Utterly disgusting when raw,” she laughed happily again for no reason, “Sometimes Drogon unknowingly helped me with the fire, and I baked them. Not that it made them any better, but at least that was something.” She laughed again, and Jorah’s heart bled when he noticed the way her cheekbones stuck out now.

It seemed that Daario was thinking exactly the same. He clicked his tongue: “The moment we set our foot in Meereen, I am ordering a twelve course dinner and don’t you dare to refuse a crumb I put in front of you!”

“Why wait till Meereen? There’s a village to the West, a day’s ride. Meanwhile, have these…” Jorah offered her bread and fruit.

Daenerys smelled the stale bread like she would have smelled a rare fragrant flower: “Oh, I missed this! You are bringing me back to life. Do you happen to have any salt?”

“Of course, here.”

Daenerys put a pinch in her mouth and moaned in perfect bliss, eyes closed, head thrown back, making Jorah blush and Daario grin: “So, you sweat for hours to hear that, and what it really takes is a pinch of salt at the right time!”

If Daario went for lightening the mood, he failed, for Jorah all too clearly remembered once more what Daario had and he had not, and Daenerys seemed to be uncomfortable as well. She blushed a bit and changed the subject:

“Drogon is off hunting. If he doesn’t catch anything, he’ll eat your horses and you once he is back. We have to do something.”

“We can ride to the nearest town, buy a horse for you and be back at Meereen in a week, now that we know our exact destination,” said Daario. “It won’t be safe, especially as we get closer to the city, but it’s the only way. Or we can leave right now, you will ride with one of us. I volunteer!” 

“Three of us, two horses… We lose speed, Drogon will think we are kidnapping his mother and reduce us to ashes.” Jorah turned to Daenerys: “Do you think you can persuade Drogon to let you ride him again, after all? Dragons are intelligent creatures. He used to obey at least some of your orders, your Grace.”

“Oh yes. ‘Fly’ and ‘Breathe fire’! He might actually burn you if he finds you here. He may be intelligent, but he’s very protective. Thank Gods for that, I would have been long dead otherwise, but I want you to be safe, too. If he is hungry, he’ll go for the horses first. Unsaddle them and hide everything of value under the rocks. Too bad we cannot hide horses under the rocks as well. He will smell them – and you – miles away.”

“We’ll just have to hobble them somewhere among those bushes and hope for the best. We cannot make the horses smell like grass or rose petals.”

Daenerys tilted her head: “Unlike you. There’s no polite way of putting this and we have no time: go wash up. Until I have a chance to explain everything to Drogon and we make sure he is not going to eat you, take off and hide all that cannot be washed and as for the rest… You saw the brook. By great good fortune you brought enough soap for all of us. Wash, bathe or be eaten. You will keep out of sight, we wait until he has his fill and then I shall try to… introduce you. If he smells you right away, I may not have the time to explain him anything.”

The sun was setting, Drogon could be back any moment, and they had to hurry. When the horses were unsaddled, watered and left to graze on a green patch among the bushes, our heroes set themselves to the task, perhaps, the least heroic, namely washing.

Wringing out his shirt, knee deep in the brook, Daario groaned: “This is ridiculous! I cannot believe I am scrubbing myself like a bloody bridegroom for some beast.” 

Jorah turned away and bit down a sigh. A bridegroom. He feared what might happen come sunset. After such a long time his Queen and her favourite clearly would not be able to keep their hands off one another and he knew he would rather die than be within earshot of them when it happened. He sighed again and splashed cold water on his face and chest.

Putting wet clothes back on was neither pleasant, nor easy, and they both cursed more than once on their way back. 

“Now that you are safe, it’s my turn. I have been dreaming of it for weeks,” said Daenerys and laughed as both men held out their hands with remaining soap. “Well,” smiled she, “I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings and choose one over another…” And she took both wet pieces and put them together, pressing hard. “I will be back soon, and you pray that Drogon does not come back before I do.”

To kill time Daario began playing with his dagger, and Jorah just sat on the rocks, deep in thought, staring into nothing.

Before they had a chance to get bored they heard a deafening swoosh over their heads and in a moment the ground shook as Drogon landed right in front of them, snarling and clawing at the scorched grass. He spat out the sheep he was holding between his teeth and stared at Jorah and Daario, who were both shocked and pale as death.

“How on earth did he do that?!” gasped Daario, crouching down. “He came out of nowhere!”

“Dragon magic,” utterly mad at himself for letting his guard down, Jorah slowly took a few steps back, showing Drogon both his empty hands high up in the air.

And then, all of a sudden, a graceful naked figure, gilded by the setting sun, darted between Drogon and them: “Stop! Stop!”

Daenerys was standing right in front of Drogon’s hideous bloodied fangs and flaring nostrils, imploring, spreading her arms wide to protect her men.

“Drogon, don’t harm these two. I… I love them!”

Drogon tilted his giant head and roared.

“I love them!”

Drogon looked straight at Jorah and did a little thing with his jaw as if saying: “Yes, I remember this one from the start, back when he was big. He was good to us. Brought us food.” But then he looked at Daario and snarled. It clearly read: “That one is new and I don’t quite like him! He’s been around, I remember, but I still don’t like him.”

“Drogon, don’t harm them! I love them, see?” 

Never losing eye contact with her giant of a son Daenerys took a few steps back and stroked both Jorah’s and Daario’s chest, ran her fingers through their hair and gave each a quick kiss on the cheek.

“They are no threat to me!” added she, muttering under her breath in common tongue: “On your knees, you fools!”

Instantly both men fell on their knees before her and bowed to the ground, in part to demonstrate their reverence, in part to avoid Drogon’s unsettling piercing gaze.

“They serve me. They brought me human food.”

Hearing a familiar word Drogon let his hideous mouth drop open: “FOOD! Where’s FOOD?!”

“Oh Gods… No food, no. They brought me salt!”

Daenerys grabbed the salt box, sprinkled a little on her palm and licked it, smiling. Drogon flared his nostrils and flicked his tongue.

“Have some! It’s so good, mmm!”

Drogon moved his monstrous head closer and touched her palm with the very tip of his tongue. At once he jumped back making the ground quake. He rumbled and shook his head, deeply insulted. Rampant, he breathed fire with a mighty roar, first holding his head high and then down to the ground, scorching dry grass right before our heroes who backed a few more paces, trying to shield their faces from the heat. Drogon was clearly not trying to burn them, or he would have. He was just making his point, which was: “I don’t like you!” Then he let Daenerys come closer to him and pat him on the nose. Gently she began stroking his scales, purring something soothing and tender.

Daario ran his palm through his hair, singed at the ends, and muttered: “Seven hells! I have seen a thing or two in my life, but not this!”

Jorah seemed to be lost in some kind of reverie, his chest heaving: “She said she loves us.” 

“Ah, that’s what it was? I don’t have any High Valyrian.”

“She said she loves us!”

“Don’t get your hopes up, brother. I think she just wanted to protect us and used small words so that the damned beast would understand.”

“It’s not that small in High Valyrian. And it’s not like ‘I love fruit cakes’. It’s like ‘I love you and I need you.’”

“You are putting way too much thought into this, Ser.”

Daenerys left Drogon and came closer to them: “He seems to have calmed down. For now. We should sleep, keeping watch. Tomorrow we decide what is to be done.” She reached for the fabric they brought, hesitated for a moment between linen and silk and picked Jorah’s blue linen, making him square his shoulders ever so slightly, wrapped it around her body, sat down on the rocks and began running her fingers through her hair: she had no comb.

Unable to be silent any longer, Jorah approached her and bent his knee.

“Your Grace!.. Those words you said…”

“What words?” asked she, blushing.

“You mentioned something about love.”

“Yes?”

“Why?”

“You must have everything spelled out for you… my bear?”

Seeking her eyes, his chest heaving, he said in hot broken whisper: “I don’t know. I don’t have the right to ask for any explanation. Yet I offered you my hand before, and you took it. The way you looked at me… And now, these things you said… You know I adore you, always have and always will. And – I must say it – I do not love you like a knight loves his queen. Not only. I love you like a man loves a woman. Please, tell me, after all we have been through, do I have any chance at all?”

She entwined her hot slender fingers with his and looked deep into his eyes: “Yes. I had much time here to think about us – about all of us”, added she glancing at Daario. “I did not see, did not know my own heart before. Now I do.”

“Oh Gods… Could it be?.. And… wait… and what about him?”

“So, you do ask for an explanation. I don’t have it. Daario, come here, I want you close,” said she and made Jorah stand up, tugging at his shirt, still wet, and clinging to him. She cupped his cheek just like she once used to and gently touched his lips with her fingertips.

“What is happening?” panted her knight, shuddering all over.

“I hope you are about to kiss me at last, and much, much more, though I may be mistaken after all.” She undid the pin that held the linen around her body and let it drop on the ground, inviting him.

He leaned down and, a hair breadth away from her face, whispered: “I have never let myself hope.”

She smiled, lips parted, eyes shining up at him: “Yes. You are very… modest. I like that. Never liked arrogance.”

Daario, approaching her from behind and sliding his arms around her waist, kissed her neck with a grin: “Hey! I am standing right here.”

“Oh yes, my dear charming scoundrel, here you are,” she raised her hand reaching back to fluff his hair and leaned flush against him, his wet clothing cool against her bare skin.

“So, your Grace, who would it be? Him or me?” rumbled Daario into her ear.

“I don’t want to choose,” answered Daenerys in hot whisper, grabbed Jorah’s neck and finally brought their lips together in a breathtaking kiss. He was almost caught off guard, yet in a heartbeat he cupped her face and began kissing her back. Gasping and groaning into the kiss he buried his fingers in her hair, while his other hand slid down to feel her breast, his whole being aflame and anything but modest.

Daario stepped aside, as Jorah took her in his arms and hesitated for a moment, not knowing where to go. In his dreams that had been haunting him for years there was always something – a Dothraki sleeping mat, a bed, a carpet. In the Red waste, delirious, he saw them together in the water. Here there was nothing but scorched grass and cold hard ground. So, he lay down himself, on his back, holding her on top, and claimed her lips again.

Daario kneeled beside them, smirking, and gently ran his palm spread wide all the way along her spine: “Her Grace doesn’t want to choose, huh?” 

That was Daario, always up to play, no reservations held, no questions asked; he probably wouldn’t mind Drogon joining them if Daenerys asked him; he could twist any situation into a pretext for lovemaking and make anything sound dirty. That was the quality that Daenerys, depending on her mood, found so annoying or hot. Now it was the latter. 

Straddling Jorah and arching her back she seized Daario’s hand, brought it to her breast and purred: “She does not and will not.”

“Her Grace is being so naughty,” growled he, gently rolling her nipple between his fingertips, and tilted her head far back to feast on her lips as she struggled with the laces of Jorah’s breeches. Jorah, not thinking clearly, all dazed, grabbed her thighs and tried to bring her closer to his mouth. Daario grinned, never breaking the kiss, and helped him, resting her back on his arm. Daenerys cried out softly as Jorah finally claimed his prize with a low rumble and fastened his lips on her, kissing, lapping, nipping, savouring, as if he would never be able to get enough of her, so wet, and hot, and tender, trembling and whimpering under his caress. He held her like a bowl of heady sweet wine, and drank, and drank, and drank until he was completely out of breath. He looked up at her with a faint lustful smile, as she begged him: “More… Tongue, deeper, please!” 

Daario, still supporting her back and leaning in to graze her neck, growled: “Do it well, brother, or, by Gods, I will!”, but Jorah needed no encouragement. Biting her lip Daenerys wantonly ground against his face, until she panted: “No! Not enough!” and slid down to straddle him again. Burning and gasping for breath she was tugging at the wet laces in vain, until Daario rolled his eyes, muttered: “What would you do without me?” and handed her his dagger. With a sigh of satisfaction she cut through the stubborn knot and tore Jorah’s breeches open. He groaned through his teeth and thought that somehow died and went to heaven, and it was even before she held him tight and guided him inside her unbearably hot and tender depth.

“Oh yes!.. Oh, Khaleesi, yes, ride me!”

She gasped at his hot plea, unexpected from her knight of so few words, always reserved and silent. And she did ride him, with wild abandon, making him hold her tight by her hips, until her thighs gave in and he took over, biting his lip, sending a ripple of pleasure through her body with each desperate upward thrust. 

Then Jorah heard her beg for something, though not a single coherent word came from her lips. Gently he pushed her back, making her fall into Daario’s arms again, and began stroking her most sensitive spot with a tip of his thumb in time with his thrusts. She cried out: “Oh Gods, yes!.. Daario, kiss me!” Daario crushed his mouth onto hers, and Jorah saw them both gasp and wince as their teeth clashed together. With a soft awkward laugh they deepened the kiss. 

Blindly Daenerys sought Jorah’s free hand, entwining her fingers with his, and before long squeezed it oh so hard, her inner muscles clenching tight around him at the same time, sending him over the edge, as well. Daario groaned, letting go of her mouth and feeling his lower lip with a quiet laugh – apparently she bit hard on it as she came. He grinned and brushed her nipples, making her cry out and slap his hand. He cradled her in his arms and whispered in her ear, raptured: “Oh, your Grace, there’s nothing in this world like a woman who really enjoys a good fuck.” With an exhausted throaty laugh Daenerys slapped him harder and leaned in to kiss Jorah.

Jorah panted: “I forgot myself, I couldn’t… I am so sorry…”

She understood. Resting her forehead against his and catching her breath she whispered: “It’s all right, it’s all right. I told you before: my dragons are the only children I will ever have. I have not bled since Rhaego passed away.”

Daario drew closer, planted a kiss on her shoulder and ran his fingers through her hair, still damp after the bathing: “I feel a little left out, your Grace.”

Panting, Daenerys looked up at him: “Never. And I warn you both, I am wearing you out tonight. And I want you to do the same to me.”

Daario exhaled sharply and pulled her off Jorah, close into his lap, holding her tight and thrusting his tongue deep between her willing lips. She pushed him down onto the ground, and he gave a grunt as his back touched the stones and prickly dusty grass: “Oh, how I miss Meereen! Your bed there, your big, soft, perfect bed…”

Daenerys laughed into the kiss.

“What?” muttered Daario against her lips. “It’s for your sake, your Grace! Here we cannot throw your Grace down on your royal back, we cannot make you stand on your royal knees with legs spread wide for us… ”

“You forgot to add another ‘royal’.” 

“Don’t mock me, your Grace. I am but a man dying of jealousy, wild with lust...”

With his everlasting smirk he wrapped her hand around the tangible proof of his words.

Jorah sat up and turned away. Daenerys sighed “No!”, leaned forward and grabbed his arm. “Stay and watch! Look into my eyes, don’t look away.”

“A moment, your Grace.”

Soon Jorah kneeled beside them and rolled out a horsecloth and another on top. Daario growled: “That’s what I call a wise advisor! Never exile him again, your Grace, I beg you!” and rolled over, gently lowering Daenerys onto this humble bedding, so unlike her Meereenese pillows and linens, yet so welcome.

She could hardly wait for him to undress. With a blissful moan she flung one leg over his shoulder. For a moment Daario lingered, marveling at her shining hungry eyes and wet parted lips, teasing her with the lightest touches at her opening. It was not until her hot whisper: “Don’t toy with me!” that Daario finally took her and began thrusting deeply and oh so slowly, turning his head to kiss her knee. Rocking her hips in time with his languid thrusts, she bit her lip and called: “Jorah! Come closer. Kiss me…” Jorah lay down next to them and, stroking her hair, covered her lips with his. His fingertips on her chin, he made her open wide for him and willingly she did, giving in to both of them. Daario leaned in to kiss his way to her right ear and whispered once more: “Oh, your Grace is being so naughty!” as Jorah ran a matching trail of kisses towards her left, adding: “…And perfect!”

And she sighed: “I love you.” And they never asked whom, they didn’t care, and took turns serving her pleasure deep into the night.

…Drogon snapped his eyes wide open and tilted his head cocking his ear. His mother seemed to cry out, so loud and clear, yet she didn’t sound hurt. Far, far from it. 

Ah, it looked like his mother and those two were doing that human thing he could not quite understand. He had seen it before from afar, but it was usually two people, one who could give milk and one who couldn’t, but frequently carried some sort of sharp metal thing. 

Drogon turned away, resting his head on his paws. The way his mother looked at them in the moonlight felt a little like the way she looked at him, when she was holding out her hand to stroke him. He came back to the moment he first saw her; she was kind of sad and lost, but she cradled him and his brothers in her arms so tenderly, and she was so beautiful and warm, and her milk was so sweet, and she didn’t have these human rags on, just like this time. It was all so confusing. She was no longer feeding, and those two were not babies, so what were they doing? Humans… He heaved a deep sigh and repeated in his head the new word she used when talking about those two. It was rather a small word, still smaller in the language they spoke among themselves, it would seem. Easy. “Love.” 

The humans fussed and fussed, and Drogon heard them talk. He didn’t understand a word, except for “Love”. By now it was only two of them: his mother and that older blond one.

Drogon got to thinking. Maybe, after all, he should bring her back to that stinking pile of rubble crawling with humans, if she liked them so much. He could always come back if needed. 

It’s settled, then.


End file.
